


The One With the Hitter

by mikkimouse



Series: Tumblr Fics [54]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9842222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse/pseuds/mikkimouse
Summary: “But then, we asked a very important question.” Scott’s eyes flicked to him, and the smile turned into a grin. “What would Stiles do?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> In which someone asked for more of the [Leverage AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9842177) and I did the end of The First David Job, because reasons. 
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here](https://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/128384315025/grabs-ask-box-and-shakes-it-please-please-please).

Stiles twisted his hands, trying to break free of the black zip tie around his wrists, though he knew it was no use. Shit, he’d kill for something sharp right now. A knife in his sneakers. A razor blade in his back pocket. Hell, the key to the filing cabinet. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.  


The sinking feeling in his stomach only got worse when one of Whittemore’s black-suited goons shoved Scott into the room and quickly bound him as well.

Stiles raised his hands and smirked. “Welcome to the party, Scotty.”  


Another goon pushed Scott into the chair next to Stiles. Scott’s glare looked more annoyed than angry, and he turned to Stiles and sighed. “I really wish they’d lost my invitation.”  


Stiles snorted. “You and me both.”

The goon at his right cuffed Stiles upside the back of his head, a signal to shut the hell up. Stiles glared at him. They had him zip-tied; it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. God, this whole job had gone to shit so fast it was a miracle any of them were still alive.  


Hell, he wasn’t even sure if all of them were. The goons had taken his comm when they’d knocked him out. Scott was clearly fine, but that left Cora, Lydia, and Derek all unaccounted for.  


His stomach gave another unpleasant swoop at the thought. Whittemore wouldn’t need any of them once he had the statues. They were looking at a very quick death or a very long prison sentence, and Stiles didn’t really like the idea of either.  


He caught something moving out of the corner of his eye, and looked up to see _Derek_ walk into the entryway of the office.  


Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, his hair was sweaty, and he was standing awkwardly, like he was trying to keep weight off one side, but he was _alive_.

And very, very angry.  


His eyes flicked around the room, calculating. Even from here, Stiles could see him sizing up the goons. There were just four in here, but–

Two more stepped out from either side of Derek.

Stiles’s heart pounded so hard he thought it was going to beat its way out of his chest. Six guys, and Derek was _hurt_. There was no way, no way…

“Just give it up,” one of the goons said. “There’s no way you can take all of us.”  


“Ordinarily, no,” Scott spoke up. “Six of you, and Derek’s got a broken rib and a concussion? Really bad odds.”  


Stiles looked at him, because seriously? _Seriously?_ That’s what he was going to say right now?  


But Scott had that smile on his face, the one that said _I know something you don’t know._ And that was making the goons pay attention to him, not to Derek.  


Derek, who dug something out of his pocket, a somewhat vicious grin on his face. 

“But then, we asked a very important question.” Scott’s eyes flicked to him, and the smile turned into a grin. “What would Stiles do?”  


Derek pushed a button on whatever he was holding, and Stiles could hear the piercing screech from the goons’ comms even from where he was sitting.  


He shot out of the chair and smacked the guy next to him right in the nose, then made a fist and brought it down on the back of his head. The guy dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Stiles fist-pumped internally.  


By the time he looked up, Derek had taken care of four of the guys, and another one lay at Scott’s feet.  


Stiles blinked at the six unconscious goons in disbelief. Holy _shit_. “I can’t believe we just did that.”  


Scott was already digging a knife off the guy nearest to him. “We need to get out of here.”  


Stiles was totally on board with that plan. He dove for his guy, only to have Derek grab him gently by the arm and cut away his restraints.  


Standing this close made Stiles’s heart go haywire, but it was even worse this time, with Derek sweaty and bleeding and serious, patting his hands over Stiles like he was trying to reassure himself that he wasn’t hurt.  


Not like Stiles had been the one trying to take out four guys with a fucking _broken rib_.  


“I’m fine, Derek,” he protested.  


Derek just grunted and finally stepped away. “I can see that.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Stiles blurted out, because he had been _so close_ to thinking Derek wasn’t okay, and that was just…not acceptable.  


Derek just stared at him, face as inscrutable as always. “Same.”  


“Guys,” Scott said sharply. “Lydia’s got Cora and they’re heading this way. Whittemore won’t be far behind. We need to get out of here.”  


Stiles shook himself, bringing him back to the present. “Yeah. Okay. Shit. We can’t let him have this place. It’s got all our records, all our…” He trailed off, realizing where this was going. What they’d have to do. “We’ll have to blow it.”  


Just saying it made bile rise in his throat, but there was no other way. No other way to keep them and their clients safe. He’d built the failsafe into the office when they’d first opened, but never had Stiles thought they’d actually have to _use_ it.  


Neither Scott nor Derek argued with him. They just shared a look. “Whatever we have to do,” Derek said quietly.  


Scott nodded firmly. “Let’s get to work.”  



End file.
